8th July, 1970

Did we all get married in black and white, back when all the world was young? On this, our actual 50th Wedding Anniversary, I've indulged myself by taking photos of our wedding photos (if you get me) and posting them on social media, so this is, if you like, my last fling before I fling myself into bed like the old lady I am (tongue firmly in cheek). I can actually remember this moment so well. We're all lined up on the steps of the University of Glasgow Memorial Chapel (to give it its proper name), where Mr PB and I had both been choristers, with our best man (who later became the Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and later still HM's Chief Inspector of Prisons - an illustrious future that awaited John's room-mate at Uni), our respective sisters, and both sets of parents. We'd done the traditional eyes front photo, and the photographer suggested we might gaze romantically into each other's eyes - but we hammed it up and reduced my family to hilarity.

After the wedding, (splendid organ music, played by George McPhee) we all ambled in warm sunshine across the road to the new Refectory building for the reception (except for us - we went in a limo, because it was there, taking all of two minutes), and drank champagne. I can't remember a thing of what we ate, though I do remember it was good, and the speeches were witty and way beyond the usual run of wedding speeches. (I remember my dad saying he hoped never to visit us on a day when we were both 'down' - I think he was referring to my mercurial temperament ...) There was no dancing, but my parents had a party for family back at their house and we sneaked round as we weren't going on honeymoon till the next day and we thought it would be fun)

It was a warm still afternoon that erupted into a thunderstorm in the evening, weather rather like today's except that this evening there was only some very ordinary rain. Our closest friends cycled round the Holy Loch to spend the afternoon in our garden with champagne and nibbles; John and I spent much of the morning clearing the overgrown roses and other jaggies from round the path so that they actually had some room to get here. Our neighbour appeared, totally unexpectedly,  with a magnum of wine and a card. The rest of the morning was taken up by our saintly shopper arriving with our messages in one hand and a bottle of fizz with a balloon attached in the other, with the chat we had in the garden, with the arrival of another friend bearing a planter full of flowers, with the arrival of one postman bearing gifts and cards and of another bearing not one but two boxes of flowers - from #1 son and from the best man. He wondered why "someone" was being spoiled ...

When I told him, he said he'd be back with the medals. I think he may be a former pupil.

Extra of my table after the post had come ...